


To Catch a Dream

by huldrejenta



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Flirting At Hogwarts, Flying Instructor Harry Potter, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Harry/Draco Owlpost Fest 2020, M/M, Oblivious Harry Potter, Pining, Pining while having sex, Post-Hogwarts, Professor Draco Malfoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:02:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28067463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huldrejenta/pseuds/huldrejenta
Summary: Potter wants to keep things casual.Draco catches feelings.Damn it.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 22
Kudos: 198
Collections: Harry/Draco Owlpost 2020





	To Catch a Dream

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CelestialCat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialCat/gifts).



> Happy Holidays, CelestialCat, I hope you enjoy this little fic!  
> Many thanks to the lovely Han for beta reading and to the mods for being generally awesome!

It was difficult to pay attention to the meeting. 

There was no reason why it should be so hard considering Draco was seated in his favourite armchair in the Hogwarts staff room. He had a mug of his beloved custom blend tea resting in his hand. He’d slept exceptionally well lately and was nowhere near dozing off, as he was sometimes prone to do whenever the staff meetings took too long. 

Still, his mind kept drifting away from the discussion currently taking place around him. 

“No, no!” said Slughorn, his voice loud enough to pull Draco out of his thoughts. “It’s important to keep the tradition alive!”

Draco had no idea what Slughorn was talking about. There seemed to be some discussion between Slughorn and Flitwick, and while Draco was usually all in favour of sticking to traditions, he’d sit this one out. After all, tradition wasn’t always what it was cracked up to be, and his mind was elsewhere anyway. 

McGonagall and Longbottom looked like they were paying attention to the discussion, Sinistra and Sprout were busy stirring their tea, and Potter...

Well. Potter met Draco’s eyes, a smile lurking underneath his serious surface. When exactly was it that Draco had learned to notice those hidden smiles? 

Eventually, the professors’ discussion died down (Flitwick looked satisfied, Slughorn less so), and McGonagall stood up. 

“Unless anyone has something to add, we’re done for today,” she said, looking as strict as ever. “We’ll meet again at the same time next week. I’d like to remind you all of Harry’s committee for planning Quidditch matches for the staff, and Neville’s committee for planning Christmas for the students remaining at school, both of which are still open for volunteering.”

Chairs started scraping against the floor as more and more staff members rose, some of them stretching or hiding a yawn. 

“Hey,” Longbottom said to Potter on his way towards the door, leaning closer. ”Do you want to go out for a beer or something?”

Longbottom was always polite enough to Draco, but he never stretched that politeness to include Draco in his off the clock invitations. Draco followed Longbottom and Potter with his eyes, and he wasn’t above relishing in a quiet thrill when Potter’s reply was, “I’m sorry, I can’t tonight.” 

Maybe Draco wasn’t the only one feeling the restless itch crawling under his skin?

”Okay,” Longbottom said, “another time, yeah?” 

“Absolutely.” Potter stepped into the corridor at a brisk pace, sidestepping a grumpy-looking Filch and heading left. He didn’t talk to Draco, didn’t acknowledge him in any way. Still, there was no doubt in Draco’s mind when he followed Potter’s path.

A few minutes later, Draco closed a door behind him as Potter placed a hand on his waist, whispering in his ear: “What took you so long?”

“Well, I’m here now.”

“You most certainly are,” Potter said and kissed him before gracefully sinking onto his knees. 

“Now, where were we when we had to stop for the staff meeting?” He fumbled a bit and then swiftly pulled Draco’s trousers down. “I think we were somewhere around here,” he said before taking Draco’s cock into his mouth.

“That seems about right,” Draco said, closing his eyes, and then he didn’t say anything for a while.

*

A lot of the things that had happened to Draco after the war had come as a surprise. One of the biggest surprises had been that he was accepted as a professor at Hogwarts. McGonagall had shaken his hand and said, “You’re the most qualified for the Potions position of the applicants we’ve got. Congratulations.” And that was that. 

Quite surprising, but very welcome nonetheless, had the reception from his fellow colleagues been as well. Yes, there had been, and still was, the occasional barb thrown his way, and he might not be the staff member that was most included in the social ins and outs at Hogwarts. Still, almost a decade had gone by since the war, and most of the time, his colleagues treated him just fine. Most of the time, they addressed him politely and professionally. 

Which was as good as he could hope for, to be honest. 

The biggest surprise, though... The biggest one of them all had been Potter. Harry Potter, with his messy hair and his sloppy handwriting and his annoying flippancy when it came to planning his flying lessons for the students. (The lessons were always top notch anyway, as far as Draco could tell. How did he do it?)

“Hello, Malfoy,” he’d said on Draco’s first day as a professor. “Are you settling in okay?”

It had been an unusually warm and sunny day, summer still keeping its hold on Scotland, and Potter... 

Well.

Potter had stood with his feet wide apart, a smile breaking onto his face, looking for all the world like someone who genuinely wasn’t bothered by suddenly being Draco’s colleague. It was anything but fair that Potter was so gorgeous as well as so nice - everything about him was annoying and irksome and confusing. Sadly, Draco also found him irresistible. His heart went _ping_ when looking at Potter, not for the first time, and definitely not the last. 

As friendly and pleasant as Potter might be, though, it was still a far cry from there to where they were now – sneaking away at irregular intervals for some extracurricular activities. Draco was hard pressed to identify when exactly this whole thing between them had started. 

Maybe it began the first time the two of them went to Hogsmeade together. It had been at the height of autumn and the first leaves had already fallen to the ground. Draco had to focus on keeping his breathing steady and his gaze off Potter’s legs and his hands and his... well, his entire person, to be honest. Walking outside helped clearing his head, but once they stepped inside of the Three Broomsticks for a drink, it had become increasingly hard to shake off his ridiculous thoughts. 

_Get a grip,_ he told himself, sternly, but to little avail. Sitting across from Potter in the dimly lit pub, revelling at how easy their conversation flowed, watching as Potter’s mouth closed around his bottle as he took a sip – well. Draco tried his best to shut down the warmth unfolding in his belly. Potter was simply being _friendly_ and a _good colleague_ and a _nice person_. There was no way he’d have any interest in anything more with _Draco Malfoy_ of all people. 

Okay. As it turned out, maybe Potter had some interest in doing _slightly_ more with Draco, if the way they’d made out after one particularly tedious night of grading essays in the staff room a few days later was anything to go by. That is, _Draco_ was grading essays. For once, Potter was planning out flying lessons or Quidditch practices or whatever he was up to behind his desk. No one but them was in the staff room (most of their colleagues had the good sense of going to bed at a reasonable time), and the room was stuffy and airily quiet. 

At least it had been until Draco started coughing. Not much, but enough that Potter had raised his eyebrows and offered him one of those undoubtedly awful Muggle cough drops. As if there weren’t perfectly suitable healing charms available, should the need arise. 

“Come on,” Potter had said, sliding the cough drops closer, “take some. Trust me, they work wonders.” 

Dubiously, Draco had taken a few, if only to shut Potter up and give himself some peace to keep working. At least the cough drops tasted okay, fresh and minty. 

“Do you like them?” Potter had asked, leaning forward and peering at him through his glasses. “Hey. Malfoy. Are you there?”

“I’m trying to work here, Potter.” His voice was nowhere near as stern as he’d intended it to be. “I’m trying to work, and I’d appreciate it if you could keep quiet.”

Unrepentant, Potter laughed and then proceeded to send him a playful wink. Wink! Who even did that? “It’s too late for work now, Malfoy. You’re not doing that cough of yours any favours by putting in an all-nighter in this dusty place.” Potter gestured at the shelves and desks and tables around them that looked like it’d been a while since anyone had bothered with a Scouring Charm in their direction. 

Potter stood up from his chair and tugged at Draco’s arm, the corners of his mouth pulled up, and Draco stared at him until his eyes went blurry. 

“Come on,” Potter said, teasingly and way too close to his ear. “You need to relax.”

And then... 

Draco still hadn’t quite figured out how he went from marking essays, minding his own business, to finding himself standing in the corridor outside of the staff room, Potter’s hand resting on his shoulder and a radiant smile sliding closer.

“We can help each other relax,” Potter said. “If you’d like.”

Draco didn’t know if he’d nodded or said anything in his daze, and the next thing he knew was the feel of Potter’s lips touching his own, tentative and warm. Strong arms were circling his waist, and if someone had cast an Incendio on him, Draco doubted he’d have felt any hotter than he already did. And when Potter coaxed his mouth open, more hesitant than his playful words earlier had indicated, a sparkle of something hot and fierce shot through Draco’s chest. 

“Feeling more relaxed now, Malfoy?” The teasing lilt was back in Potter’s voice once he’d pulled back, and Draco’s stomach sank. Just because _Draco_ was a clown, unable to shut down these preposterous and inappropriate and unwanted feelings he’d struggled with for far longer than he liked to admit, there was no reason for _Potter_ to have the same problem. 

When he lay down to sleep that night, after a make-out session in the corridor that left him restless and aching for more, he could permit his thoughts to settle on something they’d done their best to avoid: yes, there might’ve been a playful quality to Potter’s interactions with him ever since he began working at Hogwarts. Almost a bit like flirting, if he hadn’t known any better. 

But that was the thing. Potter was being playful and teasing. Always with a hint of laughter tucked away somewhere fairly close to the surface. There wasn’t anything malicious about his behaviour, Draco didn’t think, but there was hardly anything serious about it either. 

And as autumn steadily lost its colours and the pale winter took charge, the two of them kept on dancing their offbeat dance around each other. Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter, participating in a game that felt oddly familiar with its back and forth and with Draco’s underlying need for something else. For something _more_. The difference was that now, as grown-ups and colleagues and presumably sensible wizards in every way, Potter wasn’t safe in his angry predictability and open contempt. He was friendly and mischievous and up for a kiss and a quick grope, without ever indicating he saw it as anything more than having a good time, no strings attached. 

Which made him infinitely more dangerous. 

Maybe, if Draco kept telling himself that this was all in good fun, that the purely physical affection was easy and healthy and not at all against Draco’s very nature, that there was no reason to put Potter on the spot with unwanted _feelings_... Maybe then, Draco would somehow believe it.

Of course, given Potter’s penchant for giving his all in everything he did and Draco’s embarrassing uselessness when it came to denying himself anything to do with Potter, it didn’t stop at kissing and feeling each other up while still being fully dressed. 

On a windy afternoon, after a particularly frisky session on the Quidditch pitch (Draco was no longer at the level where he used to be, but it was still fun to play the occasional game with assorted members of the staff), Draco’s last flimsy efforts of restraint tumbled down. 

“You looked really good up in the air,” Potter said, leaning against the locker room wall, towelling off his hair. His glasses were askew, and he had no business looking so...

Well. The word he was looking for was _hot_.

Ridiculous. He would deny thinking that word in association with Harry Potter even under the strongest Veritaserum.

“You’re a natural on a broom, Malfoy. Always have been. You really ought to consider playing more.” Potter rubbed one hand against his neck, threw his towel away with the other, and stepped closer. “You know what I always enjoy after a game? To find some way to... unwind.” His smile was as playful as ever, but the purposeful flicker in his eyes was new.

Draco’s heart stuttered in his chest. 

It had only been a matter of time before the inevitable escalation happened, yet he still felt woefully unprepared. Unprepared for the ringing in his ears and the quickly rising heartbeat against his ribcage. Unprepared for the flaring need growing in his body with every step Potter came closer. Unprepared for the abrupt realisation, he wasn’t a good enough person to say no to what was undoubtedly coming, even with the knowledge that this meant something very different to Potter than it did to him.

Before long, Draco found himself in Potter’s room, in Potter’s _bed_ , landing between soft sheets and fluffy pillows with a delightedly grinning Potter leaning over him. 

“Oh yes,” Potter said, tucking his leg between Draco’s, “I do enjoy this way of unwinding.” A surprisingly slow grind of his hips, and then, a soft whisper, “I enjoy it a lot.” 

It was the first kiss they’d shared lying down, and Draco would like to see the person who’d be able to stay calm and aloof with the feel of Potter’s warm body pressed against them. 

“It seems you also like to unwind like this?” Potter said, peering at him as if asking for permission to continue. Given Potter’s affinity for the righteous and the upright, that was probably exactly what he was doing.

“Nng,” Draco said (groaned), and honestly, he’d better start getting a grip on himself if he were to keep any semblance of his dignity and any corner of his heart intact. “I like it just fine.” He looped his arms around Potter’s neck, tugging him down into a kiss.

Merlin, Potter made it so hard to _think_ , impossible, even, and, _oh_ , he had _no business_ sliding his hand between them, palming Draco through his trousers, _ah_ , no business at all and _please don’t stop._

Draco needn’t have worried about Potter stopping what they were doing, not that evening and not on any other. That first evening they’d exchanged handjobs, too overwhelmed to worry much about finesse or skill or anything much besides chasing the high. (Or at least Draco was. For Potter, it was mostly about winding down. Allegedly. Fuck.)

It had been quick and rushed and something that happened between countless of people every single day; no need to make a fuss. Yet, as Draco had tried and failed to fall asleep that night, he couldn’t help but feel that something had inexplicably changed between them. Because now he knew. Dreaming about it was one thing. Having firsthand experience with how Potter shivered before he came, how his head fell back when letting out a muffled groan. What he looked like immersed in pleasure. 

How did one come back from that?

Well. Apparently, one simply kept on living. 

They’d been doing this (whatever _this_ was) for a couple of weeks now, expanding their repertoire to enthusiastic blowjobs (which, _sweet Merlin_ ), via variations of easing Potter onto his back and sliding his hands down to Potter’s hips before pushing into him (which, _holy fuck_ ), to one particularly memorable night where Draco started sucking Potter off before sliding lower, relishing in the sounds of Potter’s gasps when circling his tongue against the rim (which, again, _sweet Merlin_ and then some).

It had been great. Lots of fun. Mind-blowing sex. Nothing to complain about.

And now he found himself in his bedroom, lighting candles with restless flicks of his wand. Winter was at its darkest, and his mood was hardly much brighter. He’d returned from the staff meeting Potter and he’d been late to, they’d finished their interrupted business, and now Potter had just returned to his rooms.

He hated to admit it, but the truth was that he was struggling. Burying his feelings and going with the flow, following Potter’s lead and acting as though this meant nothing, was becoming increasingly difficult.

Draco made himself stop his restless wandering back and forth. He met his reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall.

“What a sad excuse of a Slytherin you are,” he told his reflection. “You’d rather keep doing this than risk losing your time with Potter, even when it’s hurting you. Since when has your self-preservation instinct been reduced to this pathetic little _thing_ that could fit in a... in a small box? A _tiny_ box! Pull yourself together!”

As it turned out, neither he nor his reflection listened. Instead, he showed up at breakfast in the Great Hall the next day, said hello to everyone at the teacher’s table, and sat down next to Potter for some nice toast, some eggs and bacon, as well as some lighthearted banter with the man next to him.

He could do this! No need to make a big deal about having some fun and a good time! Everything was under control! He could do this! 

*

He couldn’t do this. Nope. Not even close.

Potter was lying stomach down on the bedspread, his backside faintly glistening with sweat. His breathing was still on the fast side, even as Draco himself had mostly cooled down after a tumble that could only be called _passionate_. 

Draco sat up, primly pulling his shirt on. He was just about to get up for something to drink when Potter reached out, ruffling his hair of all things. Potter opened his mouth, and Draco mentally prepared himself for some meaningless chitchat, of the cheerful and good-natured and meaningless kind. 

“I could get used to this,” Potter said. 

There was a brief pause. Draco spent most of it to push down the way those words made his stomach flip. “Used to what exactly?” 

Potter mulled it over. “Just... this, I suppose.” How enlightening. Flopping onto his side, Potter gazed at him, eyes intense. He didn’t, however, say anything more.

The thing was, Draco _was_ happy with what he was able to share with Potter. It was far beyond what he’d ever thought he’d have: Potter’s smile aimed at him. Good conversations. Fun banter. Sex. There were days when Draco was honestly fine with it all. 

And then there were days like today. Days when the intensity of his longing threatened to drown him. When he knew that it would be too painful to keep doing this.

How long would it take for Potter to figure him out anyway? Before he’d realise that playful fun for Harry Potter was something way deeper for Draco Malfoy? That would be a _truly_ alarming development. Surely, instead of walking around dreading exposure, it was far preferable to take matters into his own hands? After all, it was better to be the one to quit, pretending he had at least _some_ control, than staying and risking the agonising torment of being seen. Exposed. Pitied. He couldn’t have that.

The silence had gone on too long, and Potter’s gaze had turned into a frown. “What are you thinking?” 

Okay. Might as well get this whole thing over with. He’d already let it go on longer than he should. 

“I think,” Draco said. _Yes, keep going; you’re doing great, Draco. Keep talking._ “I think we should stop doing this. This thing that we’re doing. We should stop.”

There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?

“Oh,” Potter said. Draco could see his shoulder tensing. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”

Draco’s hands twitched at his sides. “It is.”

Potter dragged a hand through his hair, making an even bigger mess of it than it already was. “May I,” he said, clearing his throat, “may I know why?”

Draco exhaled, scuffing his bare feet against the carpet, trying to compose his expression. _Because I want you too much. Because you’ll break me. Because one of these days, you’ll understand what you mean to me, and you’ll look at me with big eyes full of compassion and pity. Because I’m scared._

“I just think –.“ He had to stop and inhale, try again. “I just think it’s for the best. I mean, look at who we are – the history we have. Being colleagues who are civil to each other is far beyond what I ever thought we could be. What anyone thought we could be. And I think that sticking to us being colleagues is for the best. Okay?”

Potter drew himself up, making no effort to cover himself with the sheets. “If that’s what you want,” he said again, not looking away.

“It is.” Draco turned around, unable to deal with Potter’s unyielding gaze for one second longer. Pulling on his trousers in record speed, he all but fled the room, leaving Potter to search for his scattered clothes by himself. If he stayed, he would risk chickening out, saying that he didn’t mean it, starting to blabber. Fucking _blabber_. He closed the door behind him and went searching for a place to cry in peace. 

*

The next time he spoke to Potter was at the annual December party for the staff. 

Draco hadn’t exactly _avoided_ Potter in the days since their last time together. He’d simply taken his meals earlier than usual. He’d opted to catch up on his correspondence instead of playing Quidditch. He’d chosen a new route for his daily walk, which was about time anyway, considering how many different hikes there were in the area.

Okay, fine. He’d totally avoided Potter.

He’d also kept busy, distracting himself as much as possible from the jumbled mess that was his mind and his heart at the moment. Still, he hadn’t been able to come up with a good reason to skip the December party. Draco was too new working at Hogwarts to have this particular tradition under his skin, but he knew that it was an event one was expected to attend. 

Besides, he’d missed talking to Potter. Making jokes with him. Having a conversation with him devoid of old grudges. Maybe they could at least salvage that part of their relationship.

The party was held in an elegant dance hall on the third floor, charmed to keep everyone but the staff away. No one wanted nosy students barging in while dusting off long forgotten waltz steps or enjoying one too many Firewhiskey. Whoever had been in charge of decorating had done a marvellous job. Draco stopped to admire the elaborate ornaments and sparkling garlands, the floating trees and the twinkling stars. Magical snow descended slowly without ever reaching the floor, and the air was filled with music and laughter and an overall holiday cheer that could push the grumpiest person into a reluctant party mood. 

Grabbing something to drink from a nearby table, Draco headed for the seating area stacked in the far side corner. The atmosphere might be festive, but he wasn’t quite ready to take on tipsy colleagues or anyone looking for a dancing partner. 

He wasn’t quite ready to take on Potter.

Only a minute or two passed after he’d sank into fluffy cushions, sipping at his drink (which turned out to be mulled wine) and watching the crowd, before a voice broke through his thoughts.

“Enjoying the party, Malfoy?”

Neville Longbottom sat down beside him, looking uncharacteristically stylish in his black and dark red dress robes. There was nothing hostile or even particularly severe about Longbottom’s expression, but him willingly seeking Draco out was a rare enough occurrence that Draco immediately grew suspicious.

“It’s an okay party,” he said. “People seem to be having fun.”

“Mmm.” Longbottom exhaled, looking away from Draco and towards the increasingly crowded dance floor. “They do, yeah. Most of them, at least.”

Draco had no doubt Longbottom was itching to say more. But whatever it was, Draco had no intention of helping him along. They weren’t friends, not even close, and if Longbottom had something to say, he could bloody well get there on his own.

“I hardly think Harry is having much fun,” was what finally came out.

Taking a careful, slightly shaky breath, Draco glanced at Longbottom. This was _not_ the turn he’d expected this to take.

“I don’t even see Potter here yet,” he said, crossing one leg over the other. “He’s probably in his room putting the finishing touches on his hair and his outfit.”

He knew very well Potter was doing no such thing. Judging by the frown appearing on Longbottom’s face, he knew it too.

“Harry is here. Or at least he was a couple of minutes ago. Maybe he went to the bathroom; I don’t know. But I do know that I almost had to drag him with me tonight. If he’d had his way, he would probably be off flying alone in the winter night or something.”

Draco could feel a frown flitting across his face. “Why on earth would he be doing such a thing? It’s freezing outside!”

Longbottom did something that looked an awful lot like rolling his eyes, in a subtle, trying-to-be-somewhat-polite way. He turned to face Draco, seemingly having made a decision.

“Why do you think, Malfoy? Harry has done nothing but brooding lately, or throwing himself into strenuous activities to take his mind off things.” 

His voice changed minutely, taking on a frostier edge. “I don’t pretend to like you much, Malfoy. I don’t trust you. But for some reason, Harry likes you. And now that you’ve decided he’s no longer good enough for you, he’s miserable. I don’t care how you do it, but you need to fix it. If you don’t want to be with him, fine, then at least tell him why so that he doesn’t walk around blaming himself for something that I’m _positive_ is not his fault at all.”

Draco’s stomach plummeted to the floor. Feeling lightheaded and slightly hysterical, he grabbed onto one of the many things coming out of Longbottom’s mouth that made zero sense.

“You knew about him and me?”

Longbottom sent him an unimpressed stare. “Everyone with eyes knew about the two of you.”

Tucking that piece of information away for closer inspection at a more convenient time, Draco started to laugh. It sounded hollow and dull even to his own ears.

“Be that as it may, why did you jump to the conclusion that he wasn’t good enough for me?” _You know as well as I do that it’s the other way around._

A frustrated sound made its way from Longbottom’s throat. “I don’t know any details of what happened between the two of you, and I don’t want to know. But Harry is my friend, and he’s a good person. You’ve hurt him, which doesn’t come as much of a surprise if you ask me, but at the very least, you owe him an explanation. Talk to him, Malfoy,” and then, a little softer, “please.”

*

If Draco soon found himself heading towards the corner where Potter was standing by himself, nursing his drink, it wasn’t because of what Longbottom had said. No way. 

He simply wanted to say hi.

“Lovely party, Potter.”

Potter whipped his head around, nodding slightly. “Hello, Malfoy.” He took a slow sip of his drink. “It is a nice party, I suppose.”

He looked tired and worn, despite his fancy dark dress robes and his attempt at a smile. Draco wanted to reach out, to touch him in some way, but he clasped his hands behind his back and focused on keeping his voice steady.

“How have you been, Potter?”

Narrowed eyes gazed at him. “I’ve been all right. Busy. But then we all are swamped near the end of the term.” Potter exhaled quickly, clearing his throat. “Since you ask, I suppose I could say that I’ve been a little confused, perhaps. There’s someone I like, you see. Someone I never thought I could like, but eventually, he grew on me. Quite a lot, to be honest. And I thought he felt the same way about me, but apparently not. Which is fine! I mean, we can’t help but feel what we feel.”

Potter smiled again. It looked pained and forced, and Draco hated being the recipient of it. “I just have a hard time wrapping my head around reading your signals so wrong, Malfoy. But don’t worry, I’m working on it. I’ll get there. And I do hope we can still be friends? I miss that.”

“Wait,” Draco said, holding his hand up. If someone had physically punched him in his stomach, he doubted he’d feel more breathless than he did at this moment. “What on earth are you talking about?”

Potter startled. “If you... I get it if you don’t want us to be friends. I promise I wouldn’t let my feelings get in the way, but if that’s too weird, then...”

“No, not that!” Draco could feel himself getting just a _little_ agitated, and under the circumstances, who could blame him? Still, they were in a public space, surrounded by their undoubtedly nosy colleagues, so he lowered his voice and stepped a little closer.

“I mean about this nonsense you said about... What you said about you having feelings. For me. Because you don’t. Have them. You couldn’t! Could you?”

Draco was seconds away from actually stomping his foot in his impatience, because what was going on?

Potter’s eyes widened. “You mean you didn’t know?”

“Know what? What was I supposed to know?”

“That I have feelings for you! Bloody hell, Malfoy, I was so obvious. How could you not know?”

Out of all the ridiculous things Potter had said, this must be fairly high up on the list. “What do you mean you were obvious? You weren’t obvious! You kept going on and on about how this was ever so good for _relaxation_ and _finding an outlet_ and _having fun_ and goodness knows what else. What in Merlin’s name was so obvious about that? If any one of us was obvious about their feelings, it was me! I hardly think I’m the one to blame here!”

Draco shuffled his feet, keeping his hands firmly clasped to keep from doing something stupid. And then – and then Potter started laughing! Draco let out an impatient sound.

“What are you laughing at?”

Potter sounded – happy. “I’m not laughing; I’m just...” He contradicted his own words by breaking into laughter again, a bright, if somewhat confusing sound. “So if I understand this correctly, we both have feelings for each other, and we both thought we were the only one having them? And now that we finally seem to have figured that part out, we’re more focused on which one of us who was the most obvious and the least to blame for this mess?”

His eyes were shining as he laid one hand on Draco’s arm. “I can think of more interesting things to focus on now that we’ve cleared up a misunderstanding that made us both feel dejected. Can’t you?”

Draco’s head was spinning with too many feelings, too many things said by them both, too many surprising turns in such a short time. Stunned, he made an effort pulling himself out of his jumbled mind. The weight of what Potter had said began to sink in.

“You like me?” He was torn between hitting himself for not seeing it and blaming Potter for not revealing it sooner. Then again, Potter did have a point. There were far more exciting things to focus on. “You _like_ me?”

Potter let out a laugh again, sliding his hand up towards Draco’s shoulder. “I like you. I really, really like you. I thought I was being obvious about it, but apparently not. To be honest, I was certain that my feelings were written all over my face, so I tried to hold back a little. It didn’t come across the way I intended - I’ve always been bad at flirting.”

“Well. We’re both here now, aren’t we? And I like you too.” The words left Draco’s mouth before he could pull them in. Then again, he didn’t have to keep those words in anymore. He met Potter’s eyes, feeling like he was seconds away from exploding because of the joy shooting through him. “I have for a long time.”

Okay, that was a _little_ more information than he’d intended to give, and judging by Potter’s open mouth, it was not what Potter expected to hear – not saying what was on their minds was precisely how they’d ended up in this mess in the first place, though. Maybe it was okay to be a bit more open about what he was feeling – just a little.

“About time!” someone yelled. One of the professors, Draco thought, he couldn’t say who. Well. If they’d all known anyway...

“I might not be very good at this,” he said, sneaking even closer to Potter. “Being open about how I feel and all that.”

Potter pulled back, just enough for them to make eye contact, eyes warm. “Apparently I’m not very good at it either,” Potter said. “But we can learn together.”

Ignoring the people around them, Draco took Potter’s hand in his and squeezed, overwhelmed by emotions he was unable to identify. He felt certain, though, that they were good emotions.

“Yes. I suppose we can learn together,” Draco said, giddy with relief, feeling every nerve in his body coming to life. 

Potter smiled and whispered, “I’d like that,” pulling him into the circle of his arms, holding tight like someone who didn’t plan on ever letting go.


End file.
